Duel Partnership
by BuJyo
Summary: Good intentions aside, you always hurt the ones you love! A give and take of a different kind...and neither are left unscathed.


***** I would pay money to see this episode! Enjoy...we all need a smile :) *****

***** I would like to thank roar526 with donuts, cookies AND cheesecake as this story would not have happened without her! *****

* * *

**Miss Piggy**_**: How would you like a pork chop? Hi-yah! [karate chops Kermit] **_

**Miss Piggy**_**: You always hurt the one you love.**_

* * *

"If you touch that bag one more time they'll be calling you Lefty for a reason," Mary warned, appearing to look out the window but keeping one eye on her partner's encroaching digits.

"You promised I could have the last one," Marshall whined, craning his neck to check the contents of the pastry bag.

"There's still two in there, idiot."

He watched her carefully. "And I've seen you stuff more than that in your mouth at one time."

"Jesus," she huffed and rolled her neck. "You whine like an eight year old."

"If you didn't eat like a starving person I wouldn't have to watch you like a hawk. Doesn't anyone ever feed you?"

Mary saw his hand inch closer to the little white bag perched on the console between them and stilled in anticipation. Game on.

"Oh crap, who's that?" Marshall narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin towards the apartment building they were watching.

"What? Who?"

Mary pivoted to spot the target, realizing her mistake a moment too late. Duped by a dork. The rustle of paper preceded his grunt of triumph, and Mary turned back to make a grab for the donuts that had sparked a debate an hour earlier. Marshall stiff armed her attempts to reach the bag, his lanky frame and obnoxiously long reach keeping her far from the prize.

"Say 'please'… 'pretty please'" he sing-songed as he chuckled at her efforts.

"Asshole," she growled. "I'm going to shove those donuts up your nose crumb by crumb until you can taste them."

"Did you know that your sense of taste is partially governed by your sense of smell? Both your taste buds and the cilia in your nose are chemoreceptors that trigger electrical impulses to your brain when stimulated by odors or flavors. In fact, flavors are a combination of tastes and odors. This is one of the reasons you can't taste foods when your nose is plugged up. So, if you were to succeed in your threat to compress these fine pastries into my nostrils, I would likely enjoy the taste vicariously through my olfactory receptors." Marshall grinned in triumph at the look of disgust on his partner's face as she ceased her efforts to maul him.

"I hate you more today than I did yesterday," she sneered, conceding the donut bag.

"Aw, shucks, you're just saying that."

Marshall shoved half a donut into his mouth and licked his fingers to blatantly demonstrate his victory. Mary curled her lip at him and returned to her surveillance with a mutter.

A moment later she saw the shades pulled aside in a particular window. "He's there. Time to go ruffle some feathers."

"I'm not done with my donuts," Marshall mumbled around another mouthful, rolling up the bag for safekeeping.

"Oh, for Chrissake." Mary's door slammed harder than necessary as she exited.

Their visit was mercifully brief, the witness cowed into obedience by the appearance of his disgruntled marshal and her silently intimidating partner. A petty thief with a penchant for women's socks, Mary gleefully described how she could fit a number of his body parts into said socks after they had been detached from his body.

"Leave them alone," she demanded, referring to a cache he had recently gathered from an ex girlfriend.

She rolled her eyes and dragged Marshall out of the apartment as her witness sputtered the usual platitudes and promises of reform.

"Why socks, do you think?" Marshall mused out loud as they exited the building. "Most fetishes involve shoes or underwear. I even heard of a girdle fetish once."

Mary looked at him in disbelief. "Girdles? Do they even make those anymore? I thought they went out with corsets and garter belts."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively, "Oh, they still make corsets and garter belts, I assure you."

"Your grandma's don't count."

Mary stalked ahead of him towards the car and Marshall watched her long legged stride. _Oh yeah,_ he thought, _she'd totally get me off wearing a garter belt and corset. Those legs… _Shaking himself back to reality, he closed his coat discreetly as he approached the SUV.

Mary was rummaging in the back as Marshall came around. "What're you doing?"

"We're only about ten minutes from Tasha's place and I thought we'd swing by to deliver her package," her voice was muffled as she leaned through the hatch. "I was sure I stuck it in my go bag the other day. Ha!"

Emerging with the package clasped in one hand, Mary turned towards the front of the truck. Smacking her head with the other hand, she reached back quickly to snag one more thing just as Marshall hip checked the door shut.

"Jesus Christ! Son of a fucking bitch!" she shouted as the door slammed into her wrist.

Mary dropped the package and cradled her injured limb between her legs as she hunched over and bounced in place, cussing a blue streak.

"Oh shit! Dammit, Mary, I'm sorry," Marshall apologized hurriedly as he quickly assessed the situation. "Jesus, are you okay?"

He didn't know whether to touch her or keep his distance, and hovered just out of reach as he watched with anxious eyes and a grimace. She was in obvious distress and he wanted to see the injury.

"Okay, stop, let me see," he reached in to halt her painful dance.

She hissed in a breath as he drew her up and coaxed her to hold out her arm. "It's okay, it's good. Just bruised, I think," she ground out, hoping he wouldn't touch the throbbing limb. She could barely feel her fingers.

It didn't look too bad, slightly bruised and reddened, but the way she held it alarmed him. "We need to get that x-rayed."

"Hell no, Trapper John, it's just bruised. Let's get back to the office and I'll put ice on it." Mary turned away from his gaze and walked quickly to the passenger side. Tossing the dropped package into the back, Marshall followed.

Opening her door, he didn't miss her wince as she climbed in while trying to protect that arm.

"Mare -" he warned.

"Can it, Marshall. It's fine." Mary pulled the door shut to force him over to his side.

He felt awful. Almost sure the wrist was worse off than she let on, he berated himself for not looking before shutting the door. She cursed and fumbled with the seat belt, then sat back with a grunt.

"Well, are we just sitting here to enjoy the scenery, nitwit? Or did you plan to get more work done today?"

Mary wanted him to drive and stop looking at her. The damn wrist throbbed with every heartbeat, she felt slightly nauseous, and attempts to move her fingers caused even her tonsils to hurt. _God dammit_, she raged to herself, _I do not need another injury right now. _She had been out too long after the shooting and couldn't bear another stint on desk duty; Stan drove her crazy and Charlie was like a puppy on crack.

She sighed as Marshall finally started the car, tense with concentration as she tried to keep her wrist from being jostled as they pulled into the street. Suddenly, the coveted donut bag was placed gently in her lap.

Mary couldn't help but grin at the offering. "Damn straight."

Two hours later, Mary sat at her desk with her arm displayed to her office mates; ice bag held aloft by her concerned partner as Stan squinted at the injury and Charlie watched Stan. The joint was now as big as her hand and turning a beautiful shade of purple. Marshall reached in to touch her fingers and she growled a warning. He wisely retreated.

"Broken," the men said, nearly in unison.

"It's not broken, you idiots," she scoffed. "Maybe sprained. I'll give you sprained."

"You don't get a sprain from a crushing injury, Mary," Marshall explained. "There has to be a twisting, or torquing, movement in order to-"

"Shut up." She turned to Stan, "Can't you just get Frank up here to wrap it or something?" Referring to their resident RN turned marshal one floor down.

Stan rubbed his head, sucking air between his teeth in disapproval. "I really want you to get it x-rayed. Even though it's your off hand, I'd hate to think you'd shoot Marshall in the ass one day because your aim is wonky due to neglect."

"Thanks?" Marshall tossed an irritated look at his boss.

"Take her to the ER, Marshall. And don't let her leave until they actually do the x-ray this time." Stan headed back to his office, Charlie trotting behind him.

"Jesus, you slip out the back door one time…" Mary muttered, wincing as Marshall replaced the ice bag.

She ducked down to rummage in her bottom drawer for the bottle of Advil kept there as Marshall grabbed his jacket.

"Here, let me get that." He came around her desk with intent to help. Mary startled and sat up, the back of her head connecting solidly with Marshall's nose as he was on his way down. He grunted loudly and staggered backward, finally settling onto the low filing cabinet behind him. Hands over his face, he bent forward with a groan.

"Dammit, Marshall, what did you do that for?" Mary exclaimed, trying to support her wrist while going to her partner's aid. Her head hurt where she had clobbered him, so she knew it was a solid hit. "Are you all right?"

"No," a muffled response. "I'm pretty sure I'm not. I need a towel." His eyes were watering with the pain from his nose, and Marshall could feel his face swelling.

She grabbed some paper towels from the kitchen and hurried back. Marshall held them to his face and tilted his head back. Mary blanched slightly when she saw the blood on his hands.

"Oh, fuck, Marshall. Stan!" she shouted.

Stan threw his hands in the air as he cleared the office door and assessed the scene. "What the hell happened now? What did you do to him? Can you two not be a pain in my ass for more than five minutes?"

"She brog my node," Marshall mumbled, his whole head now throbbing.

"It was an accident, moron," Mary defended herself to Stan, chest tight with worry. Hovering. "We butted heads on accident."

"Are you going to bleed to death?" Stan asked Marshall, assessing whether his Inspector was in any immediate danger. Assured by a negative response, Stan tossed Marshall's keys to Charlie.

"Take these two to the ER. Don't let them touch each other and don't let them talk you out of it. They don't leave until they each have a doctor's note." Charlie paled with the assignment.

* * *

"It's too bad you can't taste these," Mary mumbled around the food in her mouth. "These have to be the best damn cookies I've had in years."

Marshall sneered at her best he could, wrinkling his nose was still painful. "Next time I'm slamming both your arms in the car door. Watch you eat with your feet."

Mary gestured rudely with the hand holding the cookie, the other arm in a hard splint. "You look like an extra from that Michael Jackson video. You know, the one with the zombies or werewolves or something."

"Thriller," he tossed back automatically, mind halfway involved in his computer search while the other half accessed the mental archives.

Mary snorted, "I doubt it, looking like that."

Marshall made a point of turning his chair away from her and she returned to her forms. Charlie's home baked cookies sat on the corner of her desk. For whatever reason, the newbie had felt a need to make an offering to the pair after their disastrous trip to the ER. Mary seized the opportunity to hoard the treats. After all, she was the one with an actual fracture. Marshall looked like hell, but was deemed intact.

Marshall arched one brow at his partner as she began to swear at her computer screen. She'd been especially trying the past few days, likely still feeling guilty for planting her skull into his face. Nothing like adding insult to injury, Marshall mused, watching her curse and repeatedly click the mouse. He sighed.

"What does it say?"

"It can't locate the printer tray or some crap. What the hell? It's right there!" she barked at the machine, pointing to the printer.

Marshall wondered how many more Advil he could take without giving himself an ulcer. "It's not sentient, Mare. Why don't you see if the printer is the problem?"

A few minutes and many noxious clouds of blasphemy later, Marshall finally levered out his chair with a long suffering groan to assist his now pissed partner. His face hurt. He wanted to go home.

Mary decided the English language lacked the adequate palette of profanity to express her displeasure as she struggled to free the paper jam from the printer tray. Bent over to peer into the dark crevasses of the machine, she was unable to get enough leverage to pull the offending pages from the roller; left hand currently useless for grip. She jammed her right hand in and tried again. "C'mon, you mother…"

"Your vitriol is admirable in its creativity," he drawled, shaking his head at her positioning. "How can I help you?"

"I can't…this goddamn piece of paper…wait a minute…" Mary grunted, bracing her feet to tug on the jammed item.

Not only did she free the paper, but the entire tray pulled free of the machine; objects and human shooting backwards at the same time. Her elbow hit something soft as she fell to the floor, an odd squeak reaching her ears at the same time. Holding the offending item aloft in triumph from her final seat on the tile, Mary looked over her shoulder to smile at her partner. A frown rapidly appearing as she spotted him.

"What happened?" she asked, rolling to one hand and knees and scooting to him.

Marshall concentrated on every breathing technique he could think of. Lamaze, Pranayama, Buteyko…Lucky he could actually draw a breath at all as pain was the overriding sensation being broadcast to his brain. Giving in to need, he cupped his groin with both hands as he knelt on the ground. "Uhnnnn…."

Mary immediately recognized the universal sign of male agony. Her elbow. His squeak. Gritting her teeth, she tried to apologize and offer assistance, "Crap, Marshall, I'm so sorry! What can I do?"

He groaned a few more times, sucking air into his lungs unevenly. "Check under your desk. I'm pretty sure my testicles are cowering under there," he ground out.

Mary stuttered a giggle, then stifled it as she tried to comfort her partner, "No, really, do you need ice or something?" Unsure of what aid to offer. Another smothered chuckle.

He was glad there was no one else in the office. It was embarrassing enough to get racked; getting racked by your female partner was locker room fodder. He could see her trying to maintain her composure. Two could play.

"You could kiss it and make it better," he suggested, keeping one eye on her.

Mary guffawed. Lurching to her feet, she pulled him up and steered him towards his desk. "You think I'm going to devote that much attention to a wounded animal? I like my ponies ready at the gate."

Settling him into his chair, Mary put her hands on her hips and regarded the bruised and hunched over man. "I think you now qualify as a battered work spouse."

"Again, I then beg for conjugal aid," he teased, nausea fading.

Raising one eyebrow, Mary reached over to her desk and presented him with the cookies. "It's this, or I call Charlie and tell him you need to go to the ER for an x-ray."

_Cookies are good_, thought Marshall.

* * *

"Why today?" Mary asked for the third time, jaw set as she wiped her face with a towel. "Does he watch the weather reports and pick the crappiest day of the year on purpose?" Stan practically chased them out of the office that morning.

"We have an umbrella, you know. USMS issue and everything," Marshall chatised, watching her drip all over the seat.

"Right. Left wrist, broken, or did you forget maiming me? I can't hold the damn umbrella and keep my gun hand free."

Marshall grimaced. "We're visiting witnesses, not taking down the cartel. Expecting trouble I should know about?"

"Famous last words, idiot. Have you forgotten the shooting gallery at the McGurk's? We were the ducks if I'm remembering that correctly. Just visiting witnesses," she muttered mockingly.

The cold drizzle always put his partner into a foul mood. Her hands ached, he knew, and the injured wrist probably made it worse. Patience wearing thin despite the circumstances, Marshall pulled up to the last scheduled stop while sending up a quick prayer of thanks.

"Mine, so you can just sulk and drip while I talk. Or you can stay in the car," he offered.

Mary rolled her eyes as she slid out of the SUV. Mud puddle met leather boots. _Fuck_. Trudging behind her partner, she cursed the rain, cold and universe in general.

Marshall took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the door as he shook out his coat. He could hear Mary mumbling as she climbed the stairs. Some scratching and thumping on the other side of the door, and Marshall straightened in curiosity. He thought about ducks.

To his dying day, Marshall would swear that the dog was eight feet tall, three hundred pounds and had leapt straight at his face. Scrabbling backwards with a yell, his boots slipped on the wet porch boards and he threw out his arms as he spun for balance; solidly connecting with Mary's shoulders as she stood on the top stair.

She barely saw the oversized puppy as it bounded out the door when its owner lost his grip. Her field of vision was suddenly filled with her partner's flailing limbs before the sky became a backdrop for pain. Shoulders, back, hip…and now she couldn't breathe. Lying on her back while the rain pelted her face and her lungs refused to fill.

Mary was the reason he didn't go down the stairs himself. Rebalanced after colliding with her, Marshall grabbed the porch railing and watched in horrified disbelief as his partner tumbled down the steps backward. He jumped down to the sidewalk as his witness wrestled the overly friendly puppy into submission and back into the house.

Her partner was crouched over her, hands checking limbs and neck while he muttered apologies and voiced his concern. "God, I'm sorry! Just relax, catch your breath." He tried to hold his coat above her head so the rain didn't fall on her face. "Can you move everything? Did you hit your head? C'mon, talk to me."

Finally, air. "Jesus…H…Christ," she gasped. "If you wanted…to kill me you…could just shoot me…asshole," she panted between gulping breaths.

Everything throbbed and some things shouted for attention, but she didn't feel mortally damaged. Reaching up slowly, she grabbed Marshall's soaked shirt front and pulled him down with a glare.

"I am eating every last pastry in every last container for the rest of our lives."

He halfheartedly chuckled as he helped her struggle to sit up, mindful of her wrist and checking the back of her head for damage even as she swatted at him.

"Dammit, Marshall, quit feeling me up and get me out of the fucking rain," Mary growled.

The men helped her climb onto the porch and sat her in one of the deck chairs. Mary blinked rapidly as the move was slightly more taxing that she had expected. Marshall noticed. He sent the witness in to get some towels and crouched down in front of her.

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital, or should we go back to the office so Stan can order Charlie to do it?"

"I've had worse tumbles into the bed, Marshall," Mary snapped. "Nothing some pain killers, ice and a heating pad won't cure. Screw the hospital. I'll be ready to go in a minute."

He looked skeptical and she threatened him, "Stan's going to love the fact that you pushed me down the stairs."

"That dog attacked me!" Defensive from guilt.

"It's a freakin' puppy, Marshall. It just wanted to lick you and hump your leg."

He could see the dog in the window, tongue out and tail wagging, and knew he was beat. Silence could be bought, and he had already sold his soul many times over in this partnership. "What do you want?"

"Cheesecake. The chocolate cinnamon kind," she replied with a grin.

He smiled. "The kind that…how do you put it…makes you 'orgasm like it's the first time'?"

Mary nodded slowly as a smile spread across her face, eyes half closed, "Oh, yeah."

* * *

Stan studied his Inspectors through his blinds as they both concentrated on whatever tasks currently kept them busy. Mary and Marshall were aware of the scrutiny, but neither was willing to incur further wrath this afternoon and remained silent. They had already taken their licks this morning for the events the day before. The blinds flipped shut a minute or two later and Mary sneezed.

Marshall flicked a quick glance at Stan's office then looked over at Mary as the coast was clear.

"Go home," he insisted quietly. "You're infecting the whole office."

She slowly turned to regard him, joints and muscles protesting from the day prior. "It's a cold, not the Plague. You're lucky I don't cough on you on purpose."

"What'd I do?" he questioned, confused.

"Me. Ground. Cold puddle. Probably wouldn't have caught this goddamn cold if I hadn't been laid out in the rain."

He narrowed his eyes. "The human rhinovirus is an airborne virus that is just as virulent and aggressive in cold, rainy weather as it is in warm, sunny weather. Contrary to urban myth, legend and the warnings of many a mother who'd rather not clean mud off her floors, you cannot succumb to infection by standing, or lying, in the rain."

Mary sniffled loudly and grabbed another Kleenex as she glared at him. Painfully levering out of her seat, she limped to the filing cabinet with a grumble.

"And anyway," Marshall continued, "if my vision hadn't been just a little bit blurry due to a facial injury, I would've recognized the dog as non-threatening and stood my ground." _Take that!_ he thought smugly.

She turned to face him and crossed her arms. "And if had the use of both hands I could've fixed the printer without making Mr. Happy retreat to a very unhappy place."

"I bought you cheesecake," he stated.

"I gave you my cookies," she countered.

"Actually, they weren't yours," he said with snort. "Charlie made those for **both** of us. So I haven't yet received any compensation from you."

They stared at each other in challenge, the whir of the hard drives loud in the silence. Mary suddenly grabbed for a tissue to cover a sneeze, then looked at Marshall with a twitch to her lips.

He dove for his bottom drawer as she strode towards him, rising to aim the nozzle of the Lysol can directly at her as her arm descended to deposit the crumpled tissue onto his desk. They froze.

"As you are well aware, I have an itchy trigger finger in situations like this," he drawled, trying not to grin.

Mary bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You only got one shot before I get inside your defenses. Are you feeling lucky, punk?" She moved her arm slightly and he followed it with the can.

"Your Clint Eastwood could use some work." Unable to hide the grin now.

"So could your ability to recognize a distraction," Mary purred, allowing the Kleenex to continue its descent as she leaned over the desk to grab his collar. Pulling his face to hers as he sprayed her hand with disinfectant, Mary kissed him thoroughly.

Releasing her stunned partner after a few long, and admittedly enjoyable moments, Mary straightened and sniffled for effect. Marshall stared.

"Now then," she grinned triumphantly, nudging his box of Kleenex towards him. "You can't say I never gave you anything."

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***** Hope you enjoyed! Just a little chuckle to brighten your day. Please REVIEW, let me know what you think :P *****


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